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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23252821">Cover You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingwildrosepetals/pseuds/fallingwildrosepetals'>fallingwildrosepetals</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gay Richie Tozier, Gay Stanley Uris, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, One Shot, Richie Tozier - Freeform, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Soft Richie Tozier, Stanley Uris - Freeform, Stanley Uris Has OCD, Stanley Uris-centric, Underage Drinking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 16:22:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,037</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23252821</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingwildrosepetals/pseuds/fallingwildrosepetals</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan Uris just wanted to finish his math homework.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>103</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Cover You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stan was sitting at his desk, doing his math homework, when the doorbell rang. And rang. And rang again. He sighed. </p>
<p>“Hang on, Richie. I’m coming.” </p>
<p>The bell rang again and again until Stan threw open the door. </p>
<p>“What is your problem?” He demanded. Richie staggered into the house, a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels clinking against the doorframe. Stan pulled it out of his hands. “What’s wrong with you? What if my parents answered?” </p>
<p>Richie shrugged and leaned against the wall. “Car’s not here.”</p>
<p>His glasses were so smudged that Stan couldn’t see his eyes, his dark brown hair was lank and greasy where it hung in his face, and he smelled like the Barrens.  </p>
<p> “What happened?” </p>
<p>“Drinking. Mom’ll notice if I go home. Your parents’ car’s gone,” Richie said, voice flat. </p>
<p>“Why the drinking?” </p>
<p>“Thought it would make me feel better.” He sighed. “As usual, ladies and gents, Richie Tozier is wrong, wrong, wrong.” </p>
<p>A heaviness wound its way into Stan’s guts. He bit his lip and grabbed Richie’s hand—it was very greasy; he would need a bath in Lysol. “C’mon. Let’s get you in the shower.” </p>
<p>He waggled his eyebrows. “Buy me dinner first.” </p>
<p>“Looks like you drank it already.” Stan rolled his eyes and shoved Richie into the bathroom. “Get in the shower. I’ll bring you something to wear.” </p>
<p>“’Kay.” He set his glasses on the sink and shrugged off his Hawaiian shirt. </p>
<p>Stan shut the door and ran into the kitchen. He buried the bottle in some trash and then poured soap on a dish brush and scrubbed the grease off his hands, trying not to think of where it had come from. What Richie had been touching. </p>
<p>After exactly five minutes, Stan rinsed, dried, and applied lotion. Then he grabbed some clean pajamas from his chest of drawers. He hesitated, then grabbed underwear, too. He strode back to the bathroom and knocked on the door. </p>
<p>“Is it okay if I come in? I have pajamas.” </p>
<p>“Whatevs.” </p>
<p>Stan rolled his eyes so hard it hurt and let himself in. He spread a clean towel on the table he used for his own clothes and set the pajamas on top. Richie’s glasses still smudged and greasy and gross. Stan washed them carefully in the sink, dried them, then cleaned them again with his mom’s glasses cleaner. He folded them next to the clothes. </p>
<p>While he did this, Richie was completely silent. </p>
<p>“You okay, Rich?” He asked as he picked up Richie’s muddy clothes and stuffed them into a plastic bag. </p>
<p>“Yeah,” he said thickly. </p>
<p>Stan swallowed. “I’m…I’m gonna throw your clothes in the washer. Come to my room when you’re done.” </p>
<p>“’Kay.”</p>
<p>After Stan set the clothes to wash in hot water and scrubbed his own hands for exactly five minutes, he went and sat on his bed. He tapped his fingers against his thighs, counting them, counting the seconds, counting. </p>
<p>After he counted to five ninety times, the door opened. Stan counted to five ten more times as Richie watched, looking like an old towel hung out to dry. </p>
<p>When he reached one-hundred fives, Stan flexed his fingers and patted the space next to him. </p>
<p>“You sure?” Richie asked. </p>
<p>“Yep. You’re clean.” </p>
<p>He sat down, took off his glasses and placed them on the bedside table, and immediately flopped over against the pillows. </p>
<p>“What’s wrong?” Stan asked, poking him viciously in the side. </p>
<p>“Nothing,” Richie insisted, glaring. “Just drank too much.” </p>
<p>“Bullshit.” Stan grabbed a handful of Richie’s wet hair and tugged. “I’ve seen you drink too much. This is not that.” </p>
<p>Richie sighed and closed his eyes. </p>
<p>“Tell me or I’ll call your mom,” Stan said.  </p>
<p>Richie’s eyes popped open. “You wouldn’t.” </p>
<p>“Try me.”  Stan crossed his arms. “You’re scaring me, Rich. Talk to me.”</p>
<p>“I went drinking in the Barrens,” he admitted. </p>
<p>“With whom?” </p>
<p>“Nobody. It was just me.” A tear dripped from his chin onto the bed.  </p>
<p>Stan took a deep breath and counted to five, five times. “Why were you drinking by yourself in the Barrens?” </p>
<p>“I…I—” He choked on a sob. </p>
<p>“Hey.” Stan grabbed his hand. This time, it felt clean and warm. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.” </p>
<p>“Is…do…do you think you could hate me?” </p>
<p>“No.” </p>
<p>Richie turned his face into the pillow and sobbed. Stan lay down, curled up behind him, and wrapped his arms around his waist. </p>
<p>After fifty counts of five, Richie quieted. Stan reached over him and grabbed a handful of tissues from his bedside table. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Richie said, voice hoarse, dabbing at his face. </p>
<p>“It’s okay. Tell me what’s wrong, please.” </p>
<p>Richie rolled over so that they were nose to nose, something like fear in his liquid brown eyes, and whispered, “Do you think you could ever love me?”</p>
<p>“I already do,” Stan said. “Shithead.” </p>
<p>Richie half-smiled, then his face fell again. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant in a…more than friends kinda way.” </p>
<p>Stan’s face grew hot. He looked over Richie’s shoulder, at his cardinal poster on the far wall. “I already do,” he whispered. “Shithead.” </p>
<p>“You know I mean in a gay way, right?” Richie demanded, an edge of panic coloring his voice. </p>
<p>“Yeah.” Stan chewed on his lower lip. “Yeah, me too.” </p>
<p>He looked at Richie then, who was staring at him open mouthed. </p>
<p>“If you’re lying to me,” Richie said, “I will—”</p>
<p>Stan rolled his eyes, grabbed Richie’s face, and kissed him full on the mouth. It was a brief, wet kiss that should have been disgusting, but warmth spread through Stan’s body like wildfire. </p>
<p>When he pulled away, Richie whimpered and rolled over on top of him, straddling his hips. </p>
<p>Stan wound his fingers in Richie’s hair and pulled him down into another, longer, mint-flavored kiss. “Did you use mouthwash for me?” </p>
<p>“Nah, I used it for your mom.” </p>
<p>“Funny. Your mom never makes me use mouthwash.” </p>
<p>Richie threw his head back and laughed. “Stan the Man gets off a good one!” Still giggling, he pressed a kiss to the tip of Stan’s nose. “Do you wanna like date and stuff?” </p>
<p>Stan smiled. “I mean, I guess.”</p>
<p>Richie laughed and buried his face in Stan’s neck.</p>
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